


A Spoonful of Sugar

by Dragonfly



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonfly/pseuds/Dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a fairly extensive rewrite of a commentfic I wrote to a prompt from Kriadydragon for Neal to have a bad day that ends well.  Its original title was Neal Caffrey and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, but the story seems to be less about his bad day now.  Huge thanks to <a href="http://china-shop.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://china-shop.dreamwidth.org/"><b>china_shop</b></a> for making my writing look better than it is, and to <a href="http://canon-is-relative.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://canon-is-relative.dreamwidth.org/"><b>canon_is_relative</b></a> for barrista help.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly extensive rewrite of a commentfic I wrote to a prompt from Kriadydragon for Neal to have a bad day that ends well. Its original title was Neal Caffrey and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, but the story seems to be less about his bad day now. Huge thanks to [](http://china-shop.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**china_shop**](http://china-shop.dreamwidth.org/) for making my writing look better than it is, and to [](http://canon-is-relative.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**canon_is_relative**](http://canon-is-relative.dreamwidth.org/) for barrista help.

Diana managed to arrive at work on time, despite the fight she and Christie had that morning. Jones and Peter were ready for their undercover op, but she didn't see Caffrey anywhere.

She paused at Jones's desk. "Where's Caffrey?"

Jones shrugged. "Hasn't made it in." He looked her over with a professional eye. "You look good."

"Thanks." She and Caffrey were supposed to be playing a wealthy couple shopping for WWI antiques. Diana was dressed up, ready to be in character. She'd actually left home with the argument unresolved in order to be on time. But no Neal.

Peter emerged from his office and trotted down the stairs to them. "Let's go," he said. "Neal will meet us at the antique store."

Diana tried not to think dark thoughts about Caffrey oversleeping, or lazing too long over his breakfast. She had to pretend to be married to him.

Jones grabbed his thermos of coffee. “Anything wrong?”

“He had to change his suit,” Peter said, sounding irritated. “Apparently he got sprayed with mud by a car on his way in.” Peter usually became abrupt when they were beginning an op, so if he sounded like he didn’t entirely believe Caffrey's story, Diana wrote it off as nerves. If he’d really doubted Neal, he would have checked his tracking history.

They found parking for the surveillance van near the two-storey building with its antique store on the ground level. Joe Rossacci, the store owner, had convinced family members of WWI veterans to contribute their heirlooms to a new museum, but the FBI suspected he was selling them.

Caffrey arrived at the van, his Devore suit impeccable. If he’d felt rushed in order to make it on time, he hid it well. “Shall we go in, Dear?” he asked Diana, offering his arm with a bright smile. Diana refused it. She needed cover for her cranky mood.

“We’ve been having marital problems. I don’t think I want to be on your arm.” Caffrey nodded, accepting the change in script. He turned to Peter. “We need to be having marital problems? What for?”

“I just added that,” Diana said, climbing out of the van. A glance behind her showed Peter’s shrug, Jones’s smirk, and Caffrey’s chastened look.

Rossacci's wife, a genial, chubby woman of middle-age and not afraid to show it, stood behind the counter. She invited them to hang their coats and feel free to look around.

Diana browsed the centuries-old domestic items: needles, oil lamps, scrimshaw combs and brooches. She found a display case with WWI items, all minor and of insignificant value. She didn’t expect to see the real family treasures for sale out front; that's why Caffrey was here, to convince Mrs. Rossacci that they were serious buyers and not concerned for the legality of an item’s origin. If they passed her inspection, they might be allowed to view the real goods.

Caffrey did his job well. An utterly charmed Mrs. Rossacci promised to have her husband, who unfortunately was out, give them a call. Diana asked apologetically if she might use the bathroom, and Mrs. Rossacci barely hesitated before directing her down a hallway behind the counter, into the interior of the building. “It’s their home, boss,” Diana said on comm. “Kitchen, living room, staircase. I don’t see anything yet.”

“Keep looking as long as you plausibly can,” Peter said in her ear. “We don’t have a warrant, but she’s invited you in. Neal, keep her busy.”

“Too late,” Caffrey said on comm, as he came down the same hall and joined Diana. “She’s with another customer.”

“Neal,” Peter asked, “what are you doing back there?”

“I’m helping to search, Peter. Hey, here are the stairs.” He started up the staircase.

“Neal,” Diana hissed after him, “we haven’t been invited up there.”

“I’d call it a gray area,” Neal answered.

"Be quick," Peter urged. "We won't be able to use anything you see where you weren't invited as probable cause. It will just tell us if we're on the right track."

Diana followed Caffrey up the stairs, wondering if she could convince Mrs. Rossacci she’d been looking for a bathroom in their second storey apartment. Only it turned out it wasn't an apartment so much as a large single room loft. The master bedroom. The steeply sloping ceiling held bright skylights illuminating a large platform bed covered with a patchwork quilt in faded shades that had once been bright Victorian colors. Diana described the scene to Peter and Jones while she and Caffrey both searched. The wardrobe, an antique shrank, was locked.

Who locks their bedroom closet? Diana wondered. She looked to Caffrey to get him to pick the lock, as Jones spoke in their ears. “Uh-oh. Joe Rossacci just came home.” Diana and Caffrey froze, listening. The store’s door chimes tinkled, and a male voice.

“If he comes back here, we can’t get down the stairs,” Diana whispered.

Caffrey smoothed his tie. "I'll talk us out of it."

"No, Neal," Peter said, "We're not risking your cover. Get out of sight."

Diana saw annoyance cross Caffrey's face; he probably heard that as an insult to his con man abilities, but he had the sense to follow orders in a crisis and save any arguments for later. He glanced around the suite.

Voices grew nearer. The Rossaccis were now in the lower hallway.

“The fire escape’s on the other side of the building,” Caffrey said. “They’d hear us."

Diana nodded. "We’ve got to hide.” She looked around the room. No other exit, but a few, all equally poor, hiding spots.

Footsteps on the stairs.

“Here,” Caffrey whispered. He climbed into a built-in cabinet beneath the slope of the roof. The dark interior looked empty. Her heart pounding from adrenaline, she crowded in next to him. She remembered to turn off the comm in her ear in case even the faint tinny sound of an agent’s voice could be audible in the quiet. She gestured, by feel, to tell Caffrey to do the same. He reached past her and shut the door on them just in time. A gap in the door's seal let Diana see part of the room.

The Rossaccis entered their bedroom, Mrs. Rossacci talking about the nice mixed-race couple who were interested in WWI items and wondering what happened to them. Someone, probably Joe, unlocked the shrank, took something out and locked it again. He seemed to be changing his shirt.

Unfortunately, the cabinet the two of them had climbed into turned out to be not so empty. A sizable electrical box protruded into the space that had looked large enough to hide two adults. They were stuck with it, now, but it forced Diana to press hard and annoyingly intimately into her “husband.” As well as the sound of her own heartbeat she now heard and felt Caffrey’s wild pulse. And it wasn’t the only thing of Caffrey’s she felt.

Joe walked right over to their cabinet and stood not two feet away. Mrs. Rossacci joined him and seemed to be tying his tie. Diana remembered the mirror placed just above and to the side of their hiding place. She was forced, as was Caffrey, to stay perfectly still, even trying to hold her breath. In the stillness, the part pressing against her thigh grew thicker and harder. She was furious, but had to remain silent and motionless. She resolved to call Christie as soon as she could get free of this ridiculous situation.

The couple discussed family matters and how the market no longer carried Joe's favorite brand of coffee. Nothing incriminating. Mrs. Rossacci touched up her makeup and the couple clumped down the stairs.

Diana burst from the cabinet and put as much space between herself and Caffrey as she could. “I am not your wife, your squeeze, your anything, you got that?” she demanded, still in low tones. “I am sick and tired of your cocky flirting and of you. I’m not working with you again. If I have to, I’ll file a formal sexual harassment complaint, so I can’t be shoved in a closet with you anymore.” She stopped, realizing how very easy it would be to have Caffrey sent back to prison. What would be an embarrassing administrative problem for any other colleague or superior would likely mean the end of Caffrey's freedom.

Caffrey freed himself gracefully from the cabinet, the flush easily readable on his white face. “Diana –“

“I don’t want to hear it.” She cut him off, startled to realize how much power she had over Caffrey's situation. Even Peter wouldn’t stand in the way if she decided to make it stick. She hadn’t exactly meant to go there. She gestured at the room. “You brought us up here, and now we can’t take the stairs down. I assume you have some other way out for us?”

Caffrey held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Diana, I—"

Embarrassed, Diana turned her back on him. “I don’t want to discuss it.” She switched her comm to the van back on. “We’re clear up here,” she assured them. “Have they come out?”

“They’re still in the store,” Jones reported.

Caffrey turned his own comm back on. “I can pick the lock on the wardrobe.”

“No,” Peter said. “I want you out, now.”

Caffrey did, in fact, come up with a way for them to exit via the roof, where an old-fashioned fire escape remained even after the code-compliant one had been installed. The rusty metalwork poked out in unexpected places, and snagged Caffrey's suit jacket as they climbed down, ripping a ten inch tear in the fabric. Despite the chilly weather, Diana noticed Caffrey removed the jacket rather than present himself at the van in a torn suit.

Their op had been ruined by the simple bad luck of Joe Rossacci returning unexpectedly. They would have to hope Rossacci decided to call. “Another day,” Peter told them with ill-disguised poor humor as they arranged themselves in the van. “Right now we have to get back to the office for the ADD’s inspection report or whatever this visit is.”

Caffrey fingered the tear in his jacket. “ADD? Associate Deputy Director? Is that Bancroft?”

“Bancroft’s boss. Up from D.C.”

* * *

Neal feared Diana's fury would lead her to upbraid him in front of Peter and Jones, but the clean-up and van ride back to the office was uneventful, if subdued. She was seething, though, Neal was sure from the tight line of her mouth and how she wouldn’t look at him. He had to fight the tendency to blush like he was thirteen again when he thought of it. Dammit, there wasn’t much he could have done; Diana was sexy and scary, and pressed abruptly against him, both of them charged with adrenaline – Neal shook off the blush that threatened again and studied the ugly gash in the jacket of Byron's blue pinstripe Devore. It made the whole suit a loss.

The ADD’s name was Johnson. Neal swiftly sized him up as one of those deliberately inscrutable types who liked to surprise you with either their sudden harshness or sudden kindness, frequently both in the same hour. The kind you could pull a double-down con on, but should never try an Easter Day con on. Other than that automatic evaluation, Neal gave him little thought. What he wanted was some coffee and to change his suit. Again. He hated being seen in a ruined jacket, but neither was he comfortable in shirtsleeves. On a good day, the FBI felt like a place of colleagues and equals, but when things were going wrong, he needed his armor and now his armor had a chink in it.

But Peter wanted Neal among the White Collar agents and staff crowded into the conference room to hear what the guy had to say. Johnson stood at the far end of the conference table with Hughes next to him and Peter next to Hughes, near the door to his office.

“… case closure rate has shot up by 52% in the past year. No unit anywhere in the FBI has had a spike like that that is sustained over more than two quarters.” Neal perked up. He glanced around at the faces of the agents and clerks he’d been working with for over a year now. They were looking quietly pleased. Clearly his services were responsible for the high case closure rate. He’d suspected that the unit was doing better than usual in that area, but no one had said anything to him about it. “The Deputy Director wanted me to not only convey his congratulations to the New York City White Collar unit, but to make the congratulations public to the entire Bureau Office.” Johnson scanned the room. “Is Mr. Neal Caffrey here?”

Warmth spread through Neal’s body. “Right here,” he said, raising his hand. The people in front of him parted slightly so Johnson could see him, a number of them smiling at him. Peter wore a small smile, too.

“Ah,” Johnson said, his genial expression turning neutral. “I want to speak just to Law Enforcement. Would you please step outside?”

Shock drained the warmth from Neal. He grasped swiftly for his poker face so he didn’t show how much the snub hurt him. Hughes frowned and Peter’s expression froze. The smiles on the faces around him froze and the room grew unnaturally still. Peter said something to Hughes, who shook his head and said nothing. Everyone looked at Neal.

Neal forced a smile. He pointed at the door. “You want me – outside the room?”

“Yes,” Johnson said gravely. “I’m addressing my agents. Bureau employees."

Neal swiftly stamped his hurt into anger, then controlled the anger. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll just be right out there. On the other side of the glass walls. I should let you know, though, I’m a very good lip-reader.”

Thunderclouds gathered on Johnson’s face. Someone beside Neal snorted. Neal thought it was Diana, but wouldn’t look away from Johnson to be sure. “Hughes,” Johnson growled. Hughes turned to Peter and murmured something. Peter was on the far side of the crowded room from Neal. “Agent Barrigan,” Peter said formally, in deference to the official visit, "escort Caffrey outside.”

“Outside?” Diana asked. She was the one standing behind Neal who had snorted. Neal’s heart sank even further. Not only was he to be publicly humiliated, it had to be with Diana. Why couldn’t it have been Jones?

“Outside the building,” Hughes clarified. “Burke will call you.” Hughes didn’t meet Neal’s eyes. Peter's face was unreadable.

Keeping his own eyes up, Neal moved through the people to the door, fervently regretting the torn suit jacket which everyone must now be seeing as they watched his retreat. Except that Diana was close behind him, a small mercy.

Neal continued through the bullpen, furious, not looking back. “I guess neither of us has a coat,” Diana said. They’d left their coats in the antique store when they had to leave via the roof. Neal was not happy to be reminded of their shared experience of the morning. In fact, not happy was only the beginning of how Neal felt. He punched the call button and stared straight ahead at the closed elevator doors, acutely aware of Diana beside him. They rode to the ground floor in uncomfortable silence. When they stepped out of the elevator, Neal slowed. “Where to, Agent Barrigan?”

“Let’s get coffee,” Diana said, refusing to be needled. She led the way out the lobby doors. The day had turned colder, with enough damp in the air to make Neal keep his torn suit jacket on.

Neal thought he ought to talk to her, but he was still too hurt and angry to trust himself to be his usual charming self. So it was Diana who stopped dead on the sidewalk and turned to him. “Neal,” she said.

Neal’s stomach twisted. “Diana?” Cars zooming by reminded him of splash danger, and he sidled away from the street. Diana followed, an annoyed expression crossing her face. She must have thought he was backing away from her. Neal wondered if he could possibly feel any worse. “Neal, wait,” she said.

Neal faced her and steeled himself with whatever steel he had left. “I know you don’t want to work with me,” Neal said, resolutely holding off the blush. “I'm sure you don’t care to be my keeper, either.”

“I overreacted,” Diana said in her usual matter-of-fact way. “Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

“Okay,” Neal readily agreed. He hunted around for something else to talk about, but the other thing on his mind, being thrown out of the building while other people were praised for what he’d done, was still too painful. Currents of New Yorkers flowed around them.

“Christie reminded me I don’t have a lot of experience with men,” Diana continued. She looked at the traffic and jammed her hands in her pockets. “You didn’t deserve that,” she said, nodding her head back toward the doors to the Federal Building. Her meaning could be open to interpretation; either way, Neal more than agreed, but he held his tongue. If she was as uncomfortable with the conversation as Neal was, she didn’t show it. She could be discussing a movie or her favorite armlock technique.

“You’ve told Christie,” Neal said. Of course she had.

Diana's smile had a wicked touch to it. "Actually," she said, "you helped us make up after a fight." _So glad my embarrassment could help,_ Neal thought, giving her an oh-everything's-all-right-then grin. Diana studied him a moment, then turned away. “It’s cold, let’s get that coffee.”

* * *

Diana ordered her usual latte, then watched, bemused, as Caffrey ordered an upside-down double espresso macchiato with caramel sauce, and carried the whipped mixture to their table with both hands and a worshipful expression on his face.

"That's not your usual," Diana said, sipping her own coffee. She would have noticed if he'd been bringing that back to the office.

"You have to drink it here," Caffrey said. "The espresso shots go bitter if they're not drunk immediately." He drank deep, eyes closed, and licked the whipped cream from his lips. The blissful expression on his face as he did it made the gesture almost indecent.

"You two want to be alone?" she asked.

Caffrey smiled. "The sweetness in the cream brings out the transient sweetness in the espresso." He drank again.

"You're a barrista, now?"

"Could be."

"Well, you're sure in love with that coffee."

"I didn't have time for any this morning."

“That sucks.” Diana took cautious sips of her own drink, not relishing how it scalded her lips. She wondered if she should be suspicious about his tardiness that morning, but decided that was Peter’s job. Lack of caffeine hadn’t impaired Neal's ability to charm the heck out of Mrs. Rossacci, and Diana thought about complimenting him for that, but then decided that was Peter’s job, too.

“What do you suppose he wanted to say out of my hearing?” Caffrey asked, his gaze wandering out the coffee shop's window.

“No idea,” Diana said. She was curious, too. “I’m missing whatever it is because I have to babysit you and your crazy lip-reading skills.”

He gave her his full attention and smiled. “I’m glad you are my babysitter,” he said, before draining his cup.

“Oh, don’t start,” Diana said, then almost regretted it when she saw him wince. Fortunately her phone sounded right then with the call from Hughes himself summoning them back. She put a lid on her coffee so she could take it with her.

They came out of the elevator and slowed to a stop just inside the office doors. The crowd from the conference room had grown to fill the whole bullpen. The entire New York Office stood with their backs to the elevators, looking up at the mezzanine outside Hughes’s office. The section chiefs-- Ruiz from Organized Crime, Rice from Missing Persons, as well as the chiefs of the six other departments--stood on the walkways at the side, flanking the staff below. Hughes, Johnson and Peter stood outside Hughes’s office, at center stage. Hughes and Johnson faced Peter. Johnson was speaking.

“And so, the Deputy Director of the FBI sends his congratulations and salutes the White Collar unit of the New York City Office. Agent Burke, let’s have your team up here.”

Diana spotted Jones and the others clustered in preparation at the base of the stairs. The crowd in front of her parted, recognizing her, and ushered her forward. She climbed the stairs behind her colleagues. She didn’t see where Caffrey ended up. They all arranged themselves behind Peter, stretching to the door of the conference room.

“So let’s hear it for the most successful case closure and conviction rate of any White Collar unit in the country.”

The roomful of people applauded. Diana grinned at her colleagues, who grinned back.

Johnson went on. “And Agent Burke, this is official notification that you are nominated for the FBI’s ‘Director’s Excellence in Investigation’ award.” He handed an envelope to Peter. Hughes smiled, Peter looked proud and the room erupted in applause again. “Speech, speech,” they called.

Peter’s mouth opened in a toothy smile, and he looked proudly at his team. “There's no mystery to our closure rate," he said. "I have the best team in the country.” Then he looked beyond the team. “Where is Neal?” he asked. Diana started, figuring the question was half aimed at her.

“Here,” Caffrey said neutrally. He stood at the base of the stairs, probably ushered through the crowd as she was, but he had stopped short of joining the rest of the team. He didn’t raise his hand.

“Come up here,” Peter ordered, smiling.

Caffrey's face lit and he removed his coat jacket, and handed it to the man behind him without looking. He took the stairs two at a time, and at Peter’s gesture, brushed by the other agents to join Peter. Peter took him by the arm. “I think everyone here knows my secret weapon. I’d like you to meet Neal Caffrey.” Johnson’s smile was huge and welcoming; clearly this introduction was no surprise. Normally Diana would sigh at something to make Caffrey’s ego even bigger, but after the day they'd had, this pleased her. Johnson shook Caffrey’s hand energetically, saying, “I’ve heard great things about the job you’re doing for the Bureau.”

For once, Caffrey seemed to have nothing to say. Again, the room applauded. Caffrey looked out at the bullpen with a surprised expression swiftly replaced by a thousand watt grin. He waved and nodded like he was royalty on a balcony. “All right, all right,” Peter said. “You can go to the back of the line now.” Still grinning, Caffrey complied, placing himself beside Diana.

Blake, in front of her, said to them, “You should have heard Burke set Johnson straight. Even Hughes couldn’t shut him up.”

Caffrey turned his grin on Diana. “Secret weapon,” he said.

It was more than Diana could put up with. “Just keep your weapon holstered around me.”

“Ooh, ouch,” Caffrey replied, but his blue eyes danced. He knew she was teasing.

Hughes dismissed the gathering, and he and Johnson retired into Hughes's office. The bullpen erupted in talk as colleagues who weren't frequently forced together found things to say to each other.

Peter joined his team where they stood at the door to the conference room. “Okay, back to work,” he said, entering the room. Caffrey, Jones and Diana followed. The room seemed warm from the crush of people so recently filling it. “So I’m your secret weapon?” Caffrey asked, claiming a chair. He leaned back, looking smug.

“Yeah, yeah, get over it." Peter gestured at the chairs for Diana and Jones to sit. "So, weapon, come up with a way to get Rossacci to call you.”

Caffrey laced his fingers behind his head. He looked at the cup of coffee in Diana's hands. “No problem. I've got that figured out.”

End  



End file.
